Old Man, Look at My Life
by Faia Saiyajin
Summary: I've been first and last, look at how the time goes past' Jet-centric flashback. When the Black Dog was still a young pup.


title: Old Man, Look at My Life  
  
series: Cowboy Bebop  
  
author: Faia Saiyajin  
  
rating: R  
  
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A/N: Yeah. You know the drill. It's a fanfic. I don't own. Title from Neil Young's 'Old Man', so that's not mine either.  
  
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So, this was it. The moment of truth. The day he'd spent years preparing for. When he'd finally be able to make a difference in the world. But somehow, he felt like this day was no different than the others. It was still the same old shower, the same jazz playing softly on his stereo system, the same sun shining faintly through the half-open blinds, giving his bedroom a smokey orange tinge.  
  
He was still the same Jet. The mirror in the adjoining bathroom showed him that. But this Jet Black, unlike yesterday's Jet Black, was a full-fledged member of the ISSP. Funny, it was hard to tell. Like always, he trimmed his beard, a towel flung over his shoulders to catch the water that dripped from his hair. After his beard was finished, he'd comb his hair straight back, dress in his usual grey suit, drop his keys in his pocket, and do one last double-check, setting his fedora on his head. Still the same.  
  
Only this time, the metal badge that nestled in the inside pocket of his jacket proved he was now a real cop. Jet smirked at himself, before turning to leave, Miles Davis stopped mid-song as he flicked the stereo off.  
  
He felt a silly sense of righteousness, as he backed his dark blue sedan out of its parking spot. "Criminals, beware...! Jet's working his beat." He laughed, pulling out of the parking garage. The early-morning traffic of Ganymede's 9-to-5ers did little to dampen his spirits. This was the day. He had made it.   
  
The Ganymede ISSP building was centered neatly across from the fountain dedicated to the first man to colonize Ganymede, adding a bit of metropolitan feung shui to the view. As for the building itself, it was definetly a budget-breaker, flashy and sleek, all straight lines and reflective glass, the water of the 'Patriarch of Ganymede' fountain mirrored in the walls, making the building seem alive, rippling and shining in the early sunlight. Of course, all the ambience in the world didn't make up for the ordeal it took to find a parking spot. Hell's Circle, as it would later be called by those who were employed in the buildings around the fountain, was some sort of insane Mobiüs strip, trapping late-arrivals and the unwary in an endless series of circles, while smug pedestrians and bicyclists swerved in and out of the cars and their aggravated drivers. Glad for once that he decided to be over-zealous and leave early, Jet rested his elbow on his door, his fingers ruffling the hair on his head that the wind hadn't already messed up. His hat sat on the passenger seat, Jet having learned his lesson in trying to wear a fedora while driving down the freeway with the window down. This was his 5th trip around the circle this morning, and while the circle's other victims were already grumbling and honking their horns, Jet was calm, almost bored. Sure, he felt a little sting of irritation well up when someone he knew crossed his path, whistling happily on their way to work, but it was all well and good.  
  
Ah... here comes number 6. "Orange cone... bike rack... telephone pole..." he recited in monotone the things that slid slowly beside him. Briefly he saw the flash of red tail lights, as someone slowly maneuvered their car out of a parking spot, in the suicide attempt of pulling into traffic. Jet inched to a stop, while the driver somehow forgot how to parallel park, the angry blaze of horns behind Jet serving to frighten the driver into stillness. "Oh... great..." Jet sighed heavily, his face in his palm.  
  
The saving grace of a blue-suited figure directing traffic, while barking orders to the driver, prevented Jet from taking another trip on the merry-go-round, as he expertly pulled into the spot. "It's about damn time..." Gathering his hat, his keys, and his calm, Jet carefully slid out of the door, so that the rest of the parking-spot-seeking civilians didn't take his car door off or kill him.  
  
"Ya know... all ya gotta do is flash your badge. That usually shuts 'em up." His saviour was none other than Bob, who stepped out of the street, walking side-by-side with Jet. For all the traffic on the street, the sidewalks were nearly empty. Jet grinned.  
  
"Abuse of power really isn't my style." He glanced over at his friend, who was touching his nose self-conciously. "...what...? did you forget to wash your face or something?" There was a new growth of hair on Bob's upper lip, an effort to grow a mustache. Bob started, looking at Jet with his usual dour expression. "Okay, okay. Forget I said anything."  
  
"Well, we all can't be graced with an abundance of hair like yourself." He made a half-hearted grab for Jet's beard, Jet dodging effortlessly, lifting a hand to fend him off. "You were the only guy I knew who was shaving regularly when he got out of high school." Jet laughed again, slicking his hair back, putting his hat back on.  
  
"I can't help it. I got a hairy family."  
  
"Yeah... it all comes from your mother's side!" Bob jabbed at Jet roughly, even as Jet glared at him. "Oh... don't get me wrong. Your ma's nice and all... real sweetie. Reminds me of a girl I used to date back home." Bob paused, grinning ruefully. "...But she looked like her father!"  
  
Jet made a swipe at him, as Bob laughed, ducking out of the way. "Oh, piss off, you." His eyebrows went flat across his forehead, as he looked at his companion sideways. They both made a right turn, heading onto the double-wide concrete pad that led into the building. On either side of the walk, someone had done a swell job of landscaping the place, a pair of trees sculpted into broad points, which looked charming right next to the circular ashtray-trashcan combination. A few were still outside, enjoying a smoke before their day started. Bob paused to greet a few.  
  
"Hey, Jimbo. What's goin' on?"  
  
"Not much. ...first official day, eh?"  
  
Bob grinned. "Yup. ...hey... Jet. Meet ya inside, okay?" He craned his neck to look at him, lifting his hand in a wave.  
  
"Okay, Bob. Catch you later." Jet left Bob behind, heading for the revolving doors. They were set wide enough so that at least four people could fit between the panes of glass as they turned on their motorized spindle.  
  
Once inside, Jet looked around at the spacious lobby, all done up in marble and steel, some designer's bright idea of an industrial renaissance, trying to combine classic architechture and the clean feel of metal. It wasn't like he'd been expecting a change in the place, now that he was a cop. But he was at least hoping for a feel of superiority, or something. Oh well.  
  
"Yo, Jet! How's it goin'?" The security clerk greeted him with a smile, his white teeth contrasting with his dark skin.  
  
"It goes, Jake. Slowly." Jet paused by the desk, where Jake sat behind a row of monitors and phones, in the ironic job of minding the security of a building full of cops. Leaning his elbow on the thick marble top of the square structure, the edge level with his chest, he plucked off his hat, setting it down. Jake shook his head, Jet matching his actions.  
  
"You ain't even clocked in yet, and already you're tired of workin?" Jake laughed, leaning back in his chair. He was middle-aged now, and the modest gut that made the buttons on his uniform shirt bulge out spoke of Jake's fondness for fast food while on his breaks. "You young folk nowadays. Got shit for a work ethic."  
  
"Hey now. I wouldn't say that." Jet raised his free hand in defense. "I got as much work ethic as the next guy, maybe more."  
  
"But'choo were expecting somethin' more?"  
  
"Maybe. I dunno. I just expected to feel different about this place." For emphasis, Jet looked around, noticing a few familiar faces who were hurrying elsewhere. "You know. A sign. That I'd finally made it, or whatever." Jet promptly chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Damn. I guess I'd set my hopes a little too high."  
  
Jake grinned. "Only high enough to need a pole vault to get over 'em."  
  
"Eh well. I'll get over it."  
  
"Here's to hopin'. Else there'll be no livin' with you." Jake smacked Jet fondly on the shoulder. "Now get yer ass in there. No sense in bein' late your first day."  
  
"Later, man." Picking up his fedora, Jet headed to the elevators. Jake was right. There was no sense being disappointed simply because he didn't feel different. He was here, that was all that mattered. He was here.  
  
The elevator let him off on the 6th floor, to where he'd been relocated after earning his badge. Briefly greeting the secretaries and mail boys, he headed into this office. Two desks sat in the small room, looking like two ends of the spectrum. It was the office he shared with Corey Simmons, his partner. Corey's desk looked like it'd thrown up on itself. Papers were stacked haphazardly, an empty coffee cup sat off to the side, looking like it would need carbon dating to tell how long it'd been sitting there, and the top of the computer terminal was coated in dust an inch thick, turning the plush red octopus that perched on the monitor a faded color. The trashcan was full of papers, some spilling out onto the floor.  
  
The owner of the mess was perched on the windowsill, his upper torso thrust out the window. He was looking out over the city, smoking quietly, his wild red hair ruffled by the wind.  
  
"You know you're not supposed to smoke in here, Core." He said flatly, although it was a bit of a joke. Jet was the one who'd originally started doing it.  
  
Almost falling out the window in surprise, Corey spit out his cigarette, regaining his balance, pulling himself back inside. Jet started laughing, heading to his own desk, which was almost the polar opposite of his partner's.  
  
"Asshole." Corey said, but it was accompanied with a grin. Crossing the room, he punched Jet in the shoulder lightly, in greeting, as he slung his coat over the back of his chair. "What's goin' on?" Jet turned, and the pair slapped hands like a pair of old pals.  
  
"Not much, Core. How long you been here? You'd be late for your own funeral." He snorted, spinning the chair around and sitting. Corey leaned on the edge of his desk.  
  
"I took the el." Corey's expression spoke of his dislike of his trip. Jet's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "My car shit a brick." He scratched into his hair. "Wouldn't start last night."  
  
Jet cocked his head. "Did it make any noises?"  
  
"Um... not that I know of. But I was busy swearing at it, so I might have missed 'em."  
  
Jet rolled his eyes. "I'll come by after my shift and take a look at it." He grinned. "Wouldn't want you to suffer on your trip to work."  
  
"Pphh. Why the hell'd you become a cop, anyway?" Corey crossed his legs at the ankle, looking at Jet. He didn't say it, but he knew Jet was just a good a mechanic as he was an officer.  
  
"So I could keep you in line." Jet started, just as their door opened.  
  
"Are you two actually going to get some work done, or would you prefer to sit around and chat all day?" The man in their doorway was standing with his fists on his hips, looking at them over his wire-framed glasses. He was short, with a touch of grey at his temples, looking superior in his uniform. It was Captain O'Hara, their squadron leader. "We've got a robbery in progress downtown. You two think you can handle it?" Without waiting for a response, he promptly left, closing the door behind him.  
  
Corey whistled. "Christ. What the hell crawled into his shorts?"  
  
Jet grinned, getting to his feet. "Who knows. But what ever it is, it's been there since day one." He slung his jacket over his shoulder. "Let's hit the road."  
  
"Hellll yeah!" Corey snatched his smokes off of his desk. It was a wonder he could even find them in the mess.  
  
"Let's roll, pard." Things could only get better from here on out. 


End file.
